


Book 3.5: The Esmoroth Trilogy, Unabridged

by wlwAquaman



Category: Infinity Train (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fix-It, Non-Consensual Surgery and Drug Use, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush, amelia can say fuck because it's what she deserves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wlwAquaman/pseuds/wlwAquaman
Summary: Simon survives- barely.
Relationships: Amelia Hughes & Simon Laurent, Hazel & Amelia Hughes, Simon Laurent/Grace Monroe
Comments: 29
Kudos: 137





	1. The Wasteland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: Simon is nonconsensually drugged and it's implied that he's operated on while unconscious. He's fine, the person helping him just has awful bedside manners and didn't explain anything.

Simon is dead. He is definitely dead. He remembers the fall—his boot giving out, Grace’s hand reaching for him in vain as he fell to the massive wheels below. He was wheeled, thrown to the mercy of the Train just like everything else the Apex discarded.

So why is he in pain?

Sound comes back to him first. The distinct chugging of the Train, an engine pulling infinite cars through an empty wasteland. He blinks his eyes open, vision pulling back into focus. The Train is to his right, enormous wheels moving on its tracks as it continues past him. He tries to sit up and nearly screams as pain shoots through his chest.

Breathing shallowly, he lays on his back in the red dirt of the Wastes, looking up at the perpetually stormy sky. So he’s not dead— _ yet.  _ But he knows nothing survives out in the Wasteland. If a Ghom doesn’t eat him first, he’ll die within a few days of starvation and internal bleeding. Simon can’t decide which is worse, and at this point he doesn’t want to think about it.

He wants to cry. He wants to scream and kick and beat the ground until his knuckles split open about how  _ unfair _ it all is, but he’s too tired and in far to much pain to do anything more than let his eyes well up with tears. All his life he was afraid of being alone, of his parents leaving him and Samantha leaving him and Grace leaving him, and now he’s going to die alone.

This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. In  _ The Esmoroth Trilogy _ , the true king defeats his enemy and rises to take his rightful place at the throne, beloved by all. That’s how it was supposed to go. He’d have fixed Grace. Showed her she was wrong, that Hazel and that absolute joke of a Conductor, Amelia, were lying to her. Everything would go back to the way it was before. He wouldn’t have  _ killed _ her, he just wanted to scare her, show her that he was worthy of her respect.

Of her love.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

A small piece of himself knows that he would have wheeled her in that fight, given the chance. He pushes that thought away. It’s  _ Grace’s _ fault, not his. She left him and lied to him and he  _ had _ to take control. She made him the way he is. It’s her fault.  _ Her fault _ .

The numbers on Simon’s neck go up.

He lays in the dirt for what feels like hours, stuck in a loop of blame and anger and despair. The same thoughts race through his head over and over again, so loud that he doesn’t hear the Train slow to a stop until the words “For fuck’s sake” cut through the dry desert air. At that he turns his head, craning his neck as far as his injury will let him.

Fifty feet up stands the false conductor, Amelia, staring down at him.

“What are you doing down there?” she calls down, more with annoyance than concern.

Simon can do little more than croak out something that sounds like “fell.” To-the-point, he supposes.

He watches as Amelia climbs down the ladder on the side of the car, landing in the dirt and sending up a small cloud of red dust. She stands over him, looking down with a mixture of annoyance and condescension.

“Let’s get you back on the train, I suppose,” she mutters, grabbing him roughly and tossing him over her shoulder with relative ease. Simon cries out in pain as his bruised ribs are jostled, and either Amelia doesn’t hear or just doesn’t care because she shows no sign of concern at his discomfort. As she climbs, Simon considers fighting. But what use would it do to escape? He’d just be back to square one, laying in the dirt and hating himself.

No sooner than they reach the platform of the car, the Train begins to move again. Amelia removes Simon from over her shoulder, handling him a bit more gently this time. She lays him on the ground and turns to her bag, looking for something.

“I’m not a doctor,” she says, not bothering to look at him, “and I’m not quite fond of you. But I  _ am _ an engineer, and One would never let me hear the end of it if I let a passenger die on the Train.”

She turns, holding a vial of something in one hand and handing Simon her canteen with the other. He drinks from it and grimaces, the liquid bitter in his mouth. “What  _ is _ this?” he manages to cough out.

“Something to knock you out,” Amelia replies rather matter-of-factly, attention now on the vial. “Turns out these memory extractors are good for more than just tape. You won’t want to be awake for this, trust me.”

Simon panics as his vision starts to blur. He can’t move. Even if he wanted to, the pain in his chest is unbearable.

“Don’t worry,” Amelia says, her voice now distant. “When you wake up, you’ll be good as new. At least, I think you’ll be. Haven’t had the chance to fully test these yet.” She chuckles dryly at that, and the world slips away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter! This is my first attempt at a full story, and I hope to update at least semi-regularly. You can contact me on Tumblr @lesbiangottlieb.


	2. The Puddle Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia makes pancakes.

When Simon wakes up, it’s light out. He can hear the steady pattering of rain above, droplets hitting the tarp that has been set up over him. He sits up, wincing a bit at the tenderness in his ribs. Gingerly, he presses on his chest. It feels bruised, but nowhere near the level of pain he was in before. Maybe the old lady did know what she was doing after all.

He looks around at the car he’s in, mind immediately cataloging the terrain and any possible threats. It’s open and grassy, with clusters of trees here and there. A steady rain encompasses everything, leaving pools of water across the flat ground. No immediate threats. He relaxes a bit.

“You’re awake.”

Simon turns to see Amelia standing behind him, expression unreadable. She’s wearing a plastic poncho and holding a sad-looking plate of pancakes.

“Here,” she says, holding out the plate and a spork. “You’ve been out for a couple of days. Figured you could use some food.”

Simon just stares at her, and she laughs. It’s a dry, bitter sound. “Oh, this one’s not drugged. Just not great-tasting. Promise.”

Simon takes the plate and spork from her and she sits down next to him, pulling down the hood of her rain cover. She sighs, and the two of them sit in silence for a while.

“What were you doing out in the Wasteland, Simon?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a bite of the cold pancakes. They’re dense and dry. She was right, they’re not great.

Amelia sighs. “Look, it’s my job to ‘ensure each passenger has an experience that caters to their well-being and progress,’” she says, voice sardonic as she says her scripted lines. “But honestly, you don’t trust me and I don’t actually care all that much about you to try and be your personal therapist, so.” She stands up. “Your ribs are practically healed, you don’t need my help on that front. We’re moving through this car in about an hour, whether you want to come with is up to you. Just make sure you aren’t here when the pulse comes back, or you’ll get ejected along with the car.”

With that, she walks away, leaving Simon to his thoughts and the gentle sound of rain.

_ We. _ Amelia meant herself and Hazel, he assumes. The thought of the null puts the taste of bile in his mouth. Ever since she—  _ it _ had shown up, Grace had ignored him. Lied to him.

Left him.

The numbers on his neck go up

Deep down he knows it’s stupid. Whatever Hazel is, a 6-year-old girl or a null or some weird amalgamation of the two, she didn’t do anything more than expose the cracks in his relationship with Grace that were already there.

But still, it’s easier to blame others than come to terms with the fact that in the end it was his behavior that drove Grace away. Blame Hazel. Blame Amelia. Blame the Train. Anyone but himself.

His numbers go back down.

Simon doesn’t know what he should do. He wants to go home, but the Apex won’t welcome him after the way things ended.

He looks down at his feet, where a pool of water has been slowly collecting. Reflected back at him is a warped version of himself. Tangled blond hair. A face smudged with red soil. Red lipstick across the bridge of his nose, mostly gone except for a few stubborn spots.

He sighs, scooping some of the water into his hands and splashing it on his face. The water runs down his cheeks and he sniffles, willing himself not to cry. No home. He scrubs his face, cleaning the dirt and lipstick from his skin. No family. He scrubs harder. No friends.

The water runs brown, filled with silt and paint and tears.

With a shaky breath, Simon splashes clean water on his face and dries it with the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t feel… better, necessarily, but his mind feels clearer; sharper. He runs his hands through his hair, removing the tangles with his fingers as best he can before tying it back into a poor excuse for a bun.

He won’t leave the Train, he knows that for certain.

Standing on shaky legs, he grabs the rain tarp that had been covering his sleeping area and pulls it over himself to stay dry. He makes his way over to where he saw Amelia disappear between the trees and finds her and Hazel cleaning up their camp.

“I’d like to come with you, if that’s okay,” Simon says, voice cracking slightly. Hazel turns and looks up at him, eyes cold and angry. He avoids her gaze, instead looking downwards. Gulping, he notices that her fingers are still clawed.

“Glad you changed your mind.” Amelia smiles at him, an uncharacteristically soft expression coming from her. “Now, if you all don’t mind, I’d like to get out of here before we’re all ejected into the Wasteland, so let’s move.” She shoulders her pack and begins walking out of the trees, Hazel close behind.

Simon pauses, taking a second to draw a deep breath. The smell of rain and earth surrounds him.

He’s not alone anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely blown away by all of the positive feedback I've gotten on the first chapter. Thank you guys so much!  
> As always, you can contact me on Tumblr @lesbiangottlieb
> 
> Special thank-you to my friends Kylie (@crayola.king on Instagram) and Noël (@thelastnoel1on Twitter) for beta'ing my chapters <3


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